"
"Oh yes! Why--we must have got--it mixed," replied Coffee. "Thought
they were to be built last. Wasn't that it, Blake?"
"Sure," replied his colleague, but his tone lacked something.
"Ah--I see," said Neale, slowly.
Then the big Irishman got up to extend a huge hand. "I'm Colohan,"
he boomed.
Neale liked the bronzed, rough face, good-natured and intelligent.
And he was aware of a shrewd pair of gray eyes taking his measure.
Why these men seemed to want to look through Neale might have been
natural enough, but somehow it struck him strangely. He had come
there to help them, not to discharge them. Colohan, however, did not
rouse Neale's antagonism as the others had done.
"Colohan, are you sick of this job?" queried Neale, after greeting
the boss.
"Yes--an' no," replied Colohan.
"You want to quit, then?" went on Neale, bluntly. The Irishman
evidently took this curt query as a foreword of the coming
dismissal. He looked shamed, crestfallen, at a loss to reply.
"Don't misunderstand me," continued Neale. "I'm not going to fire
you. But if you are sick of the job you can quit. I'll boss the gang
myself ... The rails will be here in ten days, and I'm going to have
a trestle over that hole so the rails can cross. No holding up the
work at this stage of the game .
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